Very French
by deeedeee
Summary: Collaboration of kouw and deeedeee for KISSMAN'S BIRTHDAY! Mrs Hughes has some new underwear. Sexy sexy. NSFW.


**a/n This is a collaboration between ****kouw**** and me for ****Kissman**** on her birthday! Happy birthday, lady! We hope you enjoy this smutty little gift!**

**M is for MWAH. among other things. (also N is for NSFW)**

* * *

It's nineteen twenty-five and Elsie Hughes has done away with her old-fashioned drawers. They were unbecoming under her new dresses and to be quite honest, rather drafty in colder weather. Not that it's cold now - no, it's a beautiful August day and she is doing her rounds. She is wearing a new dress and a new slip and her new undergarments. She's not half as hemmed-in as she once was, and she had worried a bit in the morning, seeing herself in the bathroom mirror, that she'd look… _indecent_.

But she had really looked like herself.

Just her plain self, her curves more natural.

She knows there's someone who's noticed. She will not deny that there is a bit of an extra sway to her hips, that her step is a little bit lighter. Every time they pass each other, she makes certain he sees her from the best angle.

She is well-versed in this. She has decades of experience seducing the Butler.

Though she wonders if it's still considered seduction when you've been at it for such a very long time.

If you're married in all but rings and church and Somerset House papers.

Elsie feels remarkably free without the drawstring digging into her flesh, without the corset pushing and pulling her. It's strange to be able to breathe in so deeply. It's not a given that she sits up straight either; it now requires effort. She knows Mr Carson notices the rise and fall of her chest during lunch.

When their knees bump against each other, she can hear him suppress his gasp.

She cannot help but throw him a little knowing smile.

"Anything the matter, Mr Carson?"

"Not at all, Mrs Hughes."

But she knows better.

From the way he fidgets in his seat and has to quickly look away. From the way his trousers get tighter around his thigh when she runs her hand upwards.

He pushes her hand away.

She smirks.

She doesn't smirk when she makes her way from the airing cupboard back to the main stairs and he is standing in the middle of the corridor. Indeed not. She knows that look in his eyes all too well and she has been angling for it all day. Her new knickers are what's done it - they have been riding up a bit, giving her delightful friction all through the afternoon and she is quite pleased to see that Mr Carson is very much ready to help her with her little problem.

She has been hot and bothered all day long and she aches for release.

He takes her hand and pulls her into an unoccupied guest room, locks the door and pulls her flush against him in one smooth motion. His lips come crashing down on hers and it's delicious - frantic and erotic. It's like when they were young and unable to keep their hands off each other. When they sacrificed their nights' sleep to the delights of the flesh.

They are elated and hurried and he is pulling the pins from her hair, burying his hands in her dark tresses (oh, they are going gray; there is nothing for it but to pretend it's not happening), plundering her mouth and she is moaning wantonly, pressing herself against him, her hand between them slowly making its way down from his chest to the impressive bulge that is rising. He groans when she reaches it, lets his hands leave her ruined coif, slides them down her back to cup her bottom and it feels amazing.

The smooth fabric of her slip sliding over the material of the knickers is a new sensation and she gasps happily. He starts pulling up the hem of her dress, his fingertips tantalising on the back of her thighs, caressing the soft skin above the edge of her stockings. He leaves them be, doesn't unclasp the garters. His fingers search up higher, higher, the very tips dancing over the crease of her bottom and he groans again.

"You like this, Mr Carson?" she asks, her voice breathy with want.

"Are you wearing anything at all, Elsie?" His fingers keep searching and he finally feels the satin and lace.

She is unbuttoning her dress, and he can only just pull his hand back in time to let the dress pool on the floor.

She likes the way he watches her. The way he lets his eyes glide over her from her hair to her toes and back again, lingering on her hips and breasts - still hidden by her undergarments. She turns around and starts taking off her slip, slowly. She reveals the top of her stockings, the straps of her garter belt, then her new knickers.

His sudden intake of breath startles her.

"Whatever is the matter?" she asks, dropping her slip on the floor.

"Good god, woman, what you do to me…" he answers in a strangled voice and he wraps his arms around her bare waist, the warmth of his palm directly on her skin. He kisses her again and she melts against him.

He is fully clothed, but it doesn't matter. His fingertips dance under the edges of her knickers, his lips nip at the swell of her breasts as they spill over the cups of her new brassiere. She is pleased he finds her attractive like this - that her wish to be more comfortable also makes him want to touch her so badly.

"Wait…" she breathes into his ear, "You are overdressed and I don't mind much, but…"

"Yes…"

He shrugs out of his coat, undoes the button of his waistcoat and somehow manages to toe off his shoes. He steps up close to her and she is forced to step back. The bed is behind her now and she falls back, her man standing between her knees (she doesn't laugh at his acrobatics as he yanks off his socks, lets his trousers drop). She props herself up on her elbows, smiling at him.

"Finding it hard to… contain yourself, Mr Carson?" she asks and slides her fingernail over his erection as it strains against the cotton of his shorts. She sits up more, her eyes on his cock, and reaches to kiss it.

He gasps loudly at the contact. Her knickers are wet and she moves back and forth, relishing the friction her knickers create there - the neatly-tucked sheets be damned. She hooks her fingers under the waistband of his shorts and frees him from them, catching him with her mouth.

His hands are in her hair again and she slides her mouth up and down a fair few times before he starts to tremble and gently releases her.

"How do I get you out of these things…" he asks almost quietly, his restraint admirable even if it is about to break.

"Here..." She shows him, undoing the three hooks and eyes and letting the straps slip from her shoulders.

He pulls gently on the straps, and she shivers with the sensation as her breasts are freed from the cups. He sighs happily.

"So beautiful…" he says and starts lavishing them in loving attention, swirling his tongue around the nipple, massaging the fullness. She opens her legs for him, forgetting that he won't be able to take her like this. These knickers prevent his usual direct access (so convenient when he takes her against the wall of the wine cellar, when she straddles him in his pantry, when he bends her over the Servants' Hall table in the dead of night).

She moves back to welcome him onto the bed and he comes along with her to lie side by side. For a few moments they are content to lie flush together, their bodies relishing the close contact until he breaks away to kiss her collarbone, her breast, the gentle slope of her belly, her navel…

He removes her garter belt and stockings, his hands and mouth worshiping her skin as it is slowly revealed.

He kisses her just above the elastic waistband of her knickers and then further down, through the fabric. He kisses and licks a path to her sex, parting her through the satin, the tip of his tongue on her and she lets out a strangled moan, not wanting anyone to hear them, not wanting to be found out.

He breathes hot against the satin and she rises in response, her back arching, pushing her sex into his mouth. He teases her, tasting the impossibly soft skin of her inner thighs just below the lace. She shakes, moaning impatiently under his ministrations. Her hands are sliding down her front, grasping his hair, pulling him hard into her. He happily complies. Then he glances up just as her hands wander back up to cup her breasts. He groans at the sight and she trembles as the sound vibrates through her.

He gently grazes the smooth surface of her knickers with his teeth before breathing hot against her again. Then, so slowly she thinks she might die from the sensation, he slides his hands under her knickers. He softly strokes her, slides up and around, and she cries out, bucking against him.

Then he reaches around to slip his fingers under the waistband of the incredible satin undergarment that has driven him to distraction all day. She raises her hips to let the knickers slide off, and he takes the chance to give her bum a playful slap with the back of his hand.

"Aaaah!" Her eyes snap open and her voice shakes at the surprising touch. He grins at her and she grins back, letting her eyes close again as his hands slide over her thighs. He breathes her in and kisses her from her navel down, along either side of her sex. He's not touching her there just yet, and his light kisses cause her to writhe and twist against the already mussed sheets.

Slowly, then, he lowers his face to her. Spreading her open with his thumbs, he touches her with the tip of his tongue. She moans as he runs it up and down, softening his touch as he licks on either side of it, flattening his tongue against it. They find a rhythm. She is rocking her hips against him and he slows again, teasing her. His touch becomes so light it disappears and she moans with disappointment. But she knows he'll come back, and when he does, he is licking up and down, then sucking her clit - gently, so gently -into his mouth and flicking his tongue against it, then releasing it.

He's everywhere, lips, tongue, chin pressing against her. He wraps his arms around her and holds her tightly, the weight of his upper body pinning her hips down as he strokes and sucks and pushes her. She gasps with pleasure - this restraint is delicious and her whole body trembles and she is bucking her hips against him, crying out. She covers her mouth with one hand and tangles the other in her hair, arching, biting her palm to stifle her sounds as she comes completely undone. He softens his touch and then stills his mouth against her; he knows she is sensitive just after.

He waits. She takes a few deep and shaking breaths and reaches down for him. He raises his head and extends a hand up to meet her. She gives his hand a squeeze and places it on her breast, holds his palm against her.

They smile, joyful at how well they know each other, how beautifully he plays her body.

She gives his hand another squeeze. "Alright."

"Yes?"

"Yes, please, my darling, yes -"

Her words dissolve into soft breathless moans as he lowers his mouth to her again. He smiles, savoring every touch, every movement as he starts to drive her mad with pleasure for a second time. She is trembling again within minutes, and his touch becomes faster and lighter.

"Inside me please, oh yes yes yes YES -"

He slides two fingers inside, then three at her request and he is pressing into her, slowly and rhythmically and hard. They've found that sometimes she likes it this way - shallow, but intense and intimate. It borders on pain, but he is careful not to hurt her, not to press harder or deeper than she wants.

His mouth is on her, caressing her softly in contrast to the strong movements of his hand, and her whole body shakes violently and she is in ecstasy. And as he feels her start to clench around him, he slows down and curls a finger to stroke her just there, just inside. He softens his mouth even more and she's exploding, coming undone a second time, burying her face in the pillows as she screams - affirmations, profanity, his name. He stills his movements completely, waiting.

After a few moments she shifts, touches his hand and he pulls out slowly. She shudders, then reaches for him and he comes to her, wrapping her tightly in his arms. His erection is hot and hard between them and she reaches down to stroke it. His breath hitches and then she slides down his body to take him into her mouth.

"Are you sure?" His voice shakes a bit.

"Mmmmmm." She smiles and he feels her hum. She shivers, still coming down from her orgasm, and strokes him decadently -running her hands over his bum, his thighs, his chest - and wrapping her mouth around him, trailing her tongue over the most sensitive places. She grasps him gently, cups him just so - the way she knows he likes, the way that brings him quickly to the brink. He has his hands in her hair again, keeping her there, then pulling out, almost jostling her over onto her knees and then he is behind her.

His tip is heavy against her and he slides inside her in one fluid motion (it may be the hundredth time he has taken her like this - there is comfort in recreating sensations, in knowing what's to come). His fingertips dig into the soft flesh of her lower back, his thumbs are on her bottom. She can feel his eyes on her as he rocks back and forth and she is catching his thrusts, her arms still trembling from her previous exertions. She leans over, resting her head on her arms in the pillows.

"Elsie…" His voice is no more than a groan that she's come to recognise as her name over the years.

"Yes, what?" This is no time for tender conversation.

"I need to…"

"Yes, yes, you can…"

"Elsie… God…" His thrusts are erratic and deep, he is slamming into her and if she hadn't already come twice, she'd be touching herself, but she is holding on, pushing back, allowing him this joy, this pleasure. Her throaty noises echo through the room and she pushes back up to look at him over her shoulder.

"Yes… yes! Charles, mo gràdh..."

He comes with an almighty roar that he silences against her back, his lips soft on her skin, his forehead wet with perspiration.

They fall to the side, still joined, his arm around her waist.

There is nothing left of the neat corners and the sheets are crumpled and creased. They kiss and touch each other softly. He retrieves the satiny knickers from under him and holds them up.

"So what are these called?" he asks.

"French knickers," she answers with a smirk.

"French?"

"Very French."


End file.
